


A Coalition of Family

by megyal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-30
Updated: 2010-07-30
Packaged: 2017-10-23 04:04:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco and Harry deal with hurdles of pregnancy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Coalition of Family

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://centopiedi.livejournal.com/profile)[**centopiedi**](http://centopiedi.livejournal.com/) 's bid at [](http://gulf-aid-now.livejournal.com/profile)[**gulf_aid_now**](http://gulf-aid-now.livejournal.com/)  
> 

The prenatal mediwitch ended the visual cacophony of spells which had hovered over Harry's prone form; the small swell of his stomach was a world unto itself. Draco couldn't stop staring at it, at the blue blanket with its mountains and valleys of nubbly, worn material. Draco had to stop himself from tugging on the blanket and neatening it so that it lay flat. Mediwitch Prenwitt turned towards him with a troubled expression in her dark eyes. She inclined her head, the long black braids shifting slightly from where they were pinned up around her head; Draco dimmed the lights and followed her out into the hallway, pushing the door to so that their voices wouldn't carry. Harry appeared to be deeply asleep, dark smudges taking up permanent residence under his eyes... but he was probably awake.

"Mr. Malfoy," Prenwitt murmured. "I know you understand that this is very serious, indeed."

Draco nodded, a bare dip of his chin. She blinked at him, and he assumed that, at the moment, his expression was completely blank. He couldn't help it; he was feeling far too much at the moment, an aching sort of desperation that itched under the thin expanse of his skin, feeling like unused and ineffectual magic. The Malfoy reaction to such a fluttering of emotion was to beat it back behind a strongly fortified mental door, until it could be dealt with later, in private.

He arched one eyebrow at her, watching as her shoulders twitched under the flat white stole which was draped over the dark-blue medical robes. A few pins were fastened to the stole, indicating her rank and chosen field of practice. Mediwidth Prenwitt had been highly recommended by Millicent, and so far, Draco found no fault with the manner in which she carried out her duties; he appreciated her calm, trustworthy air. Now, she tilted her chin up and took a quick breath to speak. Draco was comforted by her professionalism, for he saw no reason to adjust his expression at this time.

"I've attempted to stabilize his condition as best as I can," she said, slipping her wand up into the wide mouth of her left sleeve. "I've also set a spell that will alert me if he worsens. But Mr. Malfoy, if he _does_..." Prenwitt threw a troubled glance at the door. Draco recalled that she had been a few years above him, in Ravenclaw; the possibility of Harry Potter and the unborn child dying under her watch was most likely running through her mind.

"I will return in a week." She sounded tired as she turned and headed towards the Floo. "If necessary, I will have to ask that Mr. Potter be admitted to St. Mungos for constant observation."

"That is understood," Draco answered, and was glad to hear his voice exit from his mouth in polished tones, smooth like rocks in a cold river. Prenwitt gave him a sidelong glance, and he realized that she was not put off by his chilly demeanour at all; she actually seemed approving of his stoic regard. She gave him a quick smile before the green flames sprang up around her, and she was whisked away back to the hospital.

It was only after the fire had died back down and the flames regained their normal orange shade, that he allowed himself to sag, leaning against the wall and scrubbing his face with his hands; his eyes felt dry, for he had been awake for too long, watching Harry with a gnawing worry in his stomach.

Harry wasn't eating; or rather, he would bring up everything he had eaten, thereby not receiving any proper amount of nourishment for himself nor the baby. His body was weak, and his magic even weaker. This pregnancy, which had been so desired and welcomed four months ago, now dragged Draco's heart down to somewhere around his ankles. Mediwitch Prenwitt had warned that very soon, they may have to make a decision between Harry's life and the baby's.

Draco massaged his temples with the fingers of one hand. He peeked into the bedroom, and noted that Harry had moved, simply turning his head from one side to the other. He took a deep breath and did the only thing he could think of at the moment.

He called his mother.

*

Narcissa's lovely face was a study of green-tinged concentration when Draco finished his report on Harry's present state. She tilted her head, and a curl of hair escaped from the artfully elaborate pile atop her head.

"He's not eating."

"He's eating, but he can't keep it down," Draco answered the non-question, his hands clasped together on his knee so that he wouldn't twine them together in a constant, nervous action. He was strategically seated in a well-appointed armchair, in order to appear collected when he contacted her. The plush seat and back of the chair hugged his slender frame comfortingly, but this was a fact that Draco only comprehended in the most abstract manner. His mother looked at him, her eyebrows high and indicating her request for further explanation.

"He tries," Draco continued. "He really does, but everything comes back up again, and the mild potions for nausea are simply not strong enough. The strong ones are not advisable to ingest at this stage." He took an long, slow inhale, for his voice had taken on an alarming tremble. "It has been very difficult for him."

"And for you as well, I imagine." She closed her eyes, and then nodded, a singularly efficient move. "Well, we must find something that will _stay_ down, shall we? We'll be over quite soon, my dear." She smiled at him, lips tight; most people would have seen it as cold, but Draco easily read the warm concern layered underneath.

"'We'?" Draco wondered, but by that time, she had already disconnected.

A few hours later, the Floo emanated three high-pitched, yet melodious chimes, alerting Draco to the fact that family, friends or both were arriving. He rose from where he had been reading, seated at Harry's side of the bed. Draco had been attempting to read, but had spent most of the time concentrating on the little furrow which had taken up permanent residence in between Harry's eyebrows. Harry was actually up by then, dressed in a t-shirt and loose pair of trousers, propped up against a veritable wall of pillows. Harry's book, a thin volume of Wizarding tales, lay open on his lap; he had expressed interest in reading these, and he was usually quite absorbed in in the stories... but Draco knew he had been just staring at the same page for the past fifteen minutes.

"I'll go see who's here. No, don't get up," Draco tried to joke and Harry smiled, even though it was rather wan.

"Aright," he answered, and lowered his dark head again in an obvious attempt to start reading again. Draco walked from their bedroom along the wide corridor; there were a few other doors which led to bedrooms, and their library was the last door on the left before the corridor let out into the open living area. They had bought this low, L-shaped brick building a few years ago, set in the middle of rambling green lands, with the intention of using it as a country-retreat; it was perfect for one of the Ministry's most effective barristers (who had been so mistrusted by the very same Ministry only a few years ago), and the former Boy-Who-Lived, who currently ran a curse-breaking practice with Bill Weasley. The workshop and barn were perfect for their puttering around, and when Harry's pregnancy had started to become a more worrying issue, Draco had taken the leave he had put aside all those years, much to his office's consternation, and had transported the entirety of their life to the country.

He had wanted to remove Harry from all the unnecessary disturbances of living in the midst of the city; for the first few weeks, Harry had worried over his clients but regular Floo-calls with Bill and the other curse-advisors had eased his mind a bit. He seemed a little ill-at-ease at first, but the pregnancy had taken over the majority of their thoughts from then on. Their friends and family visited as often as possible, but even now there were awkward interactions amongst them, Gryffs and Slyths standing in corners with a species of surprised suspicion, as if they couldn't _believe_ that Draco and Harry's union would bring them together as such. Draco wondered if the baby might unite them more... effectively. It might, but Draco wouldn't put any money on it.

He paused halfway across the living room, staring at the bustle of hurricane-like proportions occurring in the little-used kitchen. He could see his mother filling a large, cast-iron pot at the double-sink; one of the Malfoy house-elves beside her, hopping from one foot to another in obvious distress at the Mistress's actions. Narcissa ignored the elf, turning to place the pot on the cooker and and conjuring a quick flame underneath.

At the island-counter, Mrs. Weasley was monitoring the peeling and chopping of what seemed to be a myriad of root vegetables, the tip of her wand twitching between potatoes to carrots with a skill that spoke of many years of practice. Aunt Andromeda sorted through packets of meat beside the fridge, Cousin Teddy leaning against the counter near her; he was tucked in so close to his grandmother that it seemed as if he was wearing her robes, even though he was a lanky boy, tall for his age.

"Hello, Draco," his mother said, salting the water by hand as Draco stood there gaping at her. Teddy peered at him, his eyes bright. He had been the flower-boy at Harry and Draco's hand-fasting ceremony three years ago. At six he had been a mischievous little thing, strewing the petals in such a haphazard fashion that anyone who was seated at the end of an aisle found themselves brushing their hair and shoulders after he passed them.

Andromeda elbowed him, and Teddy slunk over to Draco, smiling in that sweetly shy fashion he adopted at times; such a sly hellion, Draco thought, and this caused him to grin to widely at the boy. He hadn't smiled that that in weeks, and his cheeks suffered under the strain.

"Draco, can I go see Harry?"

"Of course." Draco watched as he took off running in the direction of the bedrooms, limbs scattering every which way.

"No running!" Aunt Andromeda admonished, a bit too late in Draco's opinion, and then she herself offered a smile to her nephew: small and thin-lipped, but deeply warm because he was family. The true Black smile.

Mrs. Weasley bustled over and patted Draco on the cheek. "How are we feeling today?" she asked, tone brisk and Draco was about to answer that 'we' were quite fine, when he heard the pop of Apparition and felt the air being displaced by the presence of more people appearing in his house. He turned to see Pansy and Granger (Weasley now, wasn't she) standing arm in arm in front of the wide window that added to the living room's airy feeling. They released each other quickly, which was normal, but Draco was still dazzled by the fact that they had been willingly touching each other to transport themselves.

They were each carrying a basket of vegetables; Granger hailed him and hurried over to the kitchen. One sleeve of Pansy's fashionably short robe was rolled up so that the wicker handle of her own basket would not tug at and unravel the delicate material. She brightened even more when she spotted Draco, and marched over to shove the basket in his arms, hugging him around it.

"Draco," she said a bit breathlessly. "Quite a Potter-rescue team you've thrown together here. Oh, you mother adjusted your wards for us," she explained, reading that one question out of many which apparently had clustered on Draco's forehead. "I shan't be Floo'ing from now on."

"Why not?" Draco asked, shifting the basket so he could embrace her properly, albeit with one arm.

"Got myself with child," she answered, eyes half-lidded with humour. She waved at the increased activity in the kitchen. "So I'll expect all this when I'm abed, thanks ever so much."

"Go on with you." Draco watched as she advanced on the others with the expression of one going to war, and was summarily pulled in to deal with some chicken. The look on her face when the meat was pushed into her manicured hands was absolutely priceless.

For the rest of the day, there were people going in and out, by Floo or by Apparition. They filled the house with light and laughter and the smell of cooking, and the icy block desperate worry which had sat in Draco's chest began to melt away. He peeped into their bedroom at one point, when Ron had made his appearance, finding Teddy snuggled in bed with Harry; Teddy had set his hair as dark as his god-father's, even trying to mimic the angles of the tousled strands. Harry's face was too thin and pale, but as he read out of his book to Teddy, his smile was radiant. Draco's heart was in his throat as he watched Harry's face. This man had seen through Draco's past, endured his endless snark and came through the other side with love in his heart. Draco could not afford to lose him; he had been so worried about that. Draco pressed his forehead to the frame of the door, ignoring the sharp line of pain which came to it.

He closed his eyes; memories fell in the darkness behind his lids, tinged bright at the edges like Sickles. The first time Harry asked him out for something to eat, it had been a few months after the messy-haired prat had returned Draco's wand. Draco had been so shocked to get a handwritten note, that he had stood there staring at the harmless-looking scrap of parchment, his eyebrows attempting an invasion of his hairline. The owl that had brought the missive, a fairly common-looking tawny, hopped on the owl-perch and let out a curious _tu-whoo_ ; it was obviously waiting for a response. Draco had glanced at it, and then looked back down at the last line of Harry's surprisingly neat writing.

 _I'm serious about wanting to have a meal with you, if you like. This isn't a trap, or some kind of payback. I'm willing, if you are._

"Willing," Draco said coldly, and flicked the parchment away with disdain, aiming at it with his wand. It was in ashes before it reached the floor; one of the few minor spells he was allowed to perform for now, to light candles and sconces, and flames underneath cauldrons as part of his light sentence. " _Willing_ , Potter? What shite," he'd hissed, barely restraining the urge to spit at it. He was so very angry, and suddenly had a very sharp insight into what Professor Snape had felt that time at Potter's utter _cheek_ \--

The owl had hooted sadly, peering at the scattering of grey residue on the gleaming marble floor. Draco narrowed his eyes at it, and it spread its wings, soaring off to the wide window that had been made for that purpose. Draco had spent the rest of the week in a terrible mood, and to his own surprise, had made his way to the quiet little restaurant that Potter had indicated. The expression in those wide green eyes had been almost gratifying. Potter had obviously not expected him to turn up, and Draco's lip lifted in a superior sneer as he'd taken his seat across from Potter, ignoring the harsh whispers and the hostile stares.

"Hullo," Potter had said, voice quiet.

"You've always had the greenest eyes I have ever seen," Draco had replied and they both stared at each other for long, breathless beats. Draco immediately wanted to leave; his father had always warned him that his mouth had the most unfortunate habit of scattering off pell-mell before his brain knew what was going on, but an odd expression passed over Potter's face. It was a... a _sweet_ look, and Draco had felt an odd curling sensation low in his stomach.

"Do I?" Potter said and let his gaze drop to the silken creamy-yellow tablecloth. His lashes were thick, and long. "People say that all the time, though. They're not any greener than anyone else's."

Draco had been so stunned at having a normal conversation with Harry Potter, of all people. "Don't fish for compliments, Potter," he finally said thickly, and looked around for the menu, catching the eye of the waitress as she hurried over. "They're green. I've never seen greener. When you're were a wee lost urchin that stumbled into Malkin's, it was the first thing that struck me about you."

"Was that before the time you were running your mouth about Hagrid and Muggle-borns?" Potter said, smiling as he took the menu from the slender young woman; that smile, however, was hard and sharp when he returned his focus to Draco. "Or after?"

Draco said nothing; he took his menu and held it open, seeing none of the choices. He ordered something, _anything_ , and then looked at Potter when the waitress left.

"I have nothing to apologize for," he stated, leaning forward in that menacing manner he saw his father use to great effect, from long before this their era of invalidation. Long strands of his fine hair fell in front of his eyes, and they shivered, brushing against his eyelashes as he blinked rapidly. "You hear me, Potter? I did what I had to do. What I _believed_ in. Nothing you do now will ever change that about me."

"I'm not in the business of changing people for the worst, Malfoy," Potter had said, cool and dry.

"Oh?" Draco sat back, feeling the defensive tightness at the corner of his eyes. "And, pray tell, what _is_ your business these days? Still saving the whole world in one go, are we?"

"Nope. Just helping a single person at a time." Potter took a sip of his water and licked his lips, a quick flash of pink which tugged insistently at Draco's attention. "I'm training to be a Counselor, with a focus on curses. Maybe I can help people break through theirs in a more stable fashion. Half the trick, you see, is to _believe_ you can, so that all traces of that harmful magic will be flushed out of your system."

Draco frowned. "That kind of new theory will get you nowhere, Potter. That's not how magic works."

Potter's eyes had narrowed at him, and Draco was forcibly reminded why he was the Boy-Who-Lived. Power roiled off him in determined waves, and Draco was a _Malfoy_ , helplessly drawn to such potency. It was like being a Niffler, and Potter was a bloody pile of dragon's gold.

"Why not?" Potter demanded. "It's _magic._ It works in any fashion we want, and it's so closely linked with our intents through our wands. Why can't the state of our minds affect how our magic acts and reacts? Hermione is doing research into the human brain and its activities when our magic is activated. Bloody long boring papers to read all the time, but once you get past all the big words, you'll see that...."

Draco had listened to him as he went on; he had never known that this side of Potter even existed. He wasn't even sure what he had expected, in any case, but this sharpness had not been a part of his assumptions.

Another memory twinkled against the dark sky of his thoughts: kissing Harry for the first time. They had been at a Ministry gathering, and he had watched Harry slip behind a tapestry, and had followed. He had wondered how Harry had learned to disappear so effectively in a roomful of people. In the rich gloom, Harry had turned to look at him. A slim beam of light speared between edge of the decorative heavy fabric and the jutting wall of the nook, and fell on the side of his face, illuminating the pale curve of his cheek and the surprise in one wide eye. Draco had walked towards him, two or three horrifyingly stumbled steps, grasping Harry by his upper arms and dipping his head down for a kiss. The sound Harry had made... a sharp, low moan as he put his arms around Draco's neck and deepened their kiss.

It was the same sound he made when Draco pushed into him for the first time, his chin tilted up so that Draco could press his mouth against a spot in the middle of his jaw, trying hard not to come too quick. Tall order to fill, that, what with Harry moving with him; the skin of his inner thighs pressed damp and hot against Draco's hips, his heels bumped against Draco's lower back. Harry's breath was loud in the darkness of his bedroom, some of his groans ending with a faint whimper that spurred Draco to move faster, snap his hips until Harry was crying out his name hoarsely, fingers clawing at Draco's shoulders one moment and hanging on desperately in the next.

 _Draco_ , Harry whispered before he came, the name shimmering out of him like the heat from a bonfire. _Draco, yes._

 _Draco. I... think I'm in love with you. No, I'm not crazy. Haven't been cursed either. Do you believe me?_

 _Hey, marry me. Oh... handfasting, is it? Then handfast with me. Why would I be joking?_

 _We're going to have a baby, you and I. We're going to be our own family. I've never had a real family for myself before. I'm not sure what to do... but I think we can make it, don't you, Draco?_

"Draco."

He now turned to see his mother standing in the middle of the corridor, a tray balanced on her small hands. He took it from her quickly, and looked down at it. A bowl of rich, steaming soup, with two slices of just-baked bread in a plate.

"We've been trying all the hospital-recommended recipes," he murmured, still staring at the soup. Narcissa nodded, but said nothing. She stepped around him and opened the door, holding it open and calling for Teddy as Draco entered. Teddy slid off the bed with far more care than Draco thought him capable off, and galloped away.

"No running," Draco said automatically, and smiled at Harry as the door clicked shut quietly behind them. He leaned over as soon as he was close enough to Harry, setting the tray across his lap and adjusting the small legs so that it would be balanced properly.

Harry tilted his head for a kiss, and Draco gave it without a second thought, sighing with contentment. Harry's lips were dry, but his kisses would always be listed at the very top of whatever list Draco kept, for they were from _him_. Draco broke their kiss with much reluctance, dragging his chair close as Harry picked up the spoon.

"It's magic soup," Draco told him, and his heart melted at Harry's little huff of laughter. "Our family made this," he explained and took Harry's free hand in both of his, rubbing his thumbs over the bony fingers.

"Did they?" Harry's voice was a bit hoarse, but he dredged up a spoonful and brought it to his mouth, blowing on it to rid some of the heat. He smiled at Draco as he tilted the spoon, making no effort to free his hand from Draco's jealous grip.

"Yes. We're going to try everything."

"What a great family we have," Harry said and took up another spoonful. He offered this to Draco, and leaned forward even more insistently when Draco shook his head in refusal. "Taste it, love. It's delicious."

Helpless to Harry's wishes, Draco allowed himself to be fed; he savoured the rich flavour, letting it roll over his tongue. It tasted wonderful, and it was even better when Harry took another hearty sip before giving Draco his own. He even ate the bread, even though he insisted that Draco take his slice too.

"This is so good," Harry said on the eighth round of spoonfuls; Draco pressed his mouth to Harry's knuckles and closed his eyes, trying to hide the prickling at their corners.

"We do," he said and raised his head to smile at Harry's curious expression. "We have a great family," he clarified. Harry nodded, and put his spoon in the empty bowl to pat at his belly.

"And I'm glad we're adding to it."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

>  **AN:** This was something that happened in my family; my mother was very sick when she was pregnant with my sister and she couldn't keep anything down, and they were about to take her into the hospital. So my father's mother descended on the household like a Valkyrie and cooked for her until she could. Apparently, there's something in a mother's cooking that helps.   
> 


End file.
